Gunny's Prayer
by Theodur
Summary: Nobody escapes this war without a fair share of mental scars. No, who am I kidding. 'Festering, oozing emotional wounds that might never heal' would be more apt description. Lieutenant Jeff 'Joker' Moreau is no exception.


They never argue, but this time things are different. His crude joke is poorly timed, and he probably knows it. "So, Thessia, huh? Guess the asari are wishing they had fewer dancers and more commandos about now," he says, looking up at her from the pilot's seat. "What do you think, Commander? Too soon?"

She stares at him, her gaze hard, and he drops his eyes and looks away. "You're a damn good pilot, Joker, and I let you get away with a lot. But in case you didn't notice, we just lost a few million people!" she snaps, struggling to reign in her anger and emotions. The fires of Thessia are still vivid before her every time she closes her eyes. She remembers the tears on Liara's cheeks, shed for a homeworld she could not protect. She feels the shared weight of a destroyed planet on their shoulders, shaking with sobs, a world they were supposed to save.

Jeff 'Joker' Moreau averts his gaze, a mixture of shame and grief on his face, as he turns around in the pilot's seat and raises his hands, bringing up images on the visual interface before him. A planet, a small green orb, a safe haven somewhere in the galaxy. As Joker manipulates the interface with his hands, deformed by the Vrolik's syndrome, more and more images appear, surrounding the small planet. The sickening color of red that she has seen too often. Reaper signatures.

"In case you're wondering, Commander, that's Tiptree," he says in a heavy voice, struggling to keep it flippant and emotionless, failing miserably. "Little colony out in the ass-end of nowhere. My dad lives there. So does my sister. Reapers rolled in about two weeks ago." He turns back around to face her again. There's an unseen fire and defiance in his eyes that takes her slightly aback. "So, you can assume that I'm generally aware there's a war on, Commander," he finishes, their stares locked.

"Joking about it will not lighten the mood, and you know it. Not this time," she shakes her head. She already regrets snapping at him. "Everything I saw on Thessia just hits so close to home. I look at the planet dying and I can't help but think, what if the same is happening to Earth right now? Cracking jokes about it... I'm sorry, Joker, but... not now, not your best moment."

He does look guilty, but she knows there is more to it. "I just feel... like I must do something. EDI says that your armor's metabolic scans reveal you're under more stress than during the Skylian Blitz. You remember Elysium, Commander? Like more than ten thousand batarians all trying to kill you?"

"Of course I remember..." she draws a sharp breath. It is not a pleasant memory. "What does that have to do with..."

"I spoke with Anderson," Joker confesses quietly. "He told me to take care of you. Only... I don't know how. Obviously, I just failed spectacularly. I already got you killed once, Shepard. And I..." he averts his gaze again, trying to hide the emotions. "I can't even do a shitty little thing for you, Commander."

"Hey, come on now," she steps closer and puts her hand on his shoulder, as he resumes his task of steering the ship, checking the readouts. His hands are slightly shaking as he works the consoles, and it does not escape her. "I know it probably does not feel like you helped, but you really did," she says, meaning every word. "Sometimes it's just enough to know that someone cares." He does not reply, probably fearing that his voice might break from the emotion. Instead, he simply nods and she withdraws her hand from his shoulder.

"Oh, and Joker?" she says before leaving. "I hope your folks will be alright. I will hold them in my prayers."

He nods again and she turns to leave the bridge. All too quickly her heart grows weary again, remembering that the galaxy around them is falling apart, torn to shreds by the Reapers. Their personal tragedies playing out in the background should perhaps be ignored, too insignificant in scope... but she simply can't force herself to remain unaffected.

And it hurts her to realize that she won't be able to help them all, save them all. Even if she is the famous Commander Shepard.

* * *

This is the first shower in over two weeks. The rivulets of water running across the skin, washing away all the filth and grime, and I am almost starting to enjoy this evac job.

Tiptree is yet another small colony hit by the Reapers, intent on harvesting humans everywhere across the galaxy. At least the Reaper forces aren't here in strength, far from the numbers we have seen elsewhere. We have cleared some scouts, mostly husks and a few of those mutated turian-marauders, and for now everything seems quiet. The shuttle has been called away, and I am stranded at this small farm, but at least the humans are taking good care of me. The shower alone makes up for everything.

Amongst the farmers, there's this freckle-faced girl, maybe fifteen years of age, inquisitive and full of admiration. "Hi! I'm Gunny... uh, I mean, Hilary," the girl introduces herself shyly, welcoming me inside the house and offering me a place at their dinner table. She never leaves my side, a question is followed by another question, filled by disarming fascination. "What is it like to be an asari commando?" That's just one of the many questions she has for me.

I humor the girl patiently, tired as I am. In truth, I've never liked the humans much. An ambitious race, they might think they are running the Council, but deep inside, they are all too aware of the asari superiority, and their stares betray them, jealous and worshipping at the same time. Still, this girl Hilary, she is a good sort and she is the one who comes up with the offer to use their shower.

I feel as if I could stand in the shower forever, but the door to the cabin opens and I hear a voice. It's Hilary. "Another asari is here. Probably a friend of yours," she says, trying not to stare. It feels awkward and also a little flattering.

Hilary passes me a towel and I quickly cover myself, all the time wondering why the shuttle has returned so early. It is not supposed to be back until the next morning. In fact, I did not even hear it landing, though the running water might have quenched the noise. Still, I cannot help but feel a little alarmed as I follow Hilary back into the living room.

There is another asari, just like the girl has told me. "Neaira?" I know this one well, my sweet, lovely Neaira. "Why did you come back..." My words are cut short as our eyes meet and I realize that this... is no longer my Neaira. She's glowing, a strange, sickly glow, and her eyes are black. Goddess, her eyes are black! Why are her eyes black?

One of the humans approach her, a bowl of food in his outstretched hand. He smiles at her. Neiara just touches him... and he dies. For a few moments, they all stand like frozen, their mouths agape, and Neaira rips into them, opening them with vicious slashes and powerful biotics. Panic grips them, and there are screams, cries for help, pleas of mercy, and I stand amidst them, naked in the towel and with no gun, watching the husks starting to pour in through the doors.

I do the only thing I can. I run, grabbing the girl's hand and pulling her after me. She struggles at first, shouting after her father, but I do not let go of her. If her father is amongst those farmers, then we cannot help him, not now. I drag her with me, outside the farm and we dash for the nearby hills with one thought on our minds, to survive the night. We collapse behind a hurdle of jagged stone. Hilary sobs quietly.

We spend the night hiding, trying to evade the marauders sent to search for us. I dare not sleep, watching the sky for the shuttle, but there is no sign of it. Where is that damned shuttle? It should have arrived already! Perhaps they think we are all dead. Perhaps they do not want to risk landing in this area, suddenly overrun by the Reaper forces. Perhaps it is best they do not come. They would only get themselves killed... or worse. I remember Neaira's eyes. There's only a shell left of my love, and yet I still don't know whether I could pull the trigger on her. If I had a gun...

Two days pass like this, constantly on the run. Hilary, the farm girl, she is with me still. She has long since stopped crying. Instead, she carries a heavy stick, its edgy tip soaked in blood and gore. She has tasted her first kill, and I feel proud of her for keeping it together. Hilary is actually proving to be useful, and I am fast growing fond of her.

But I know we cannot run forever, and I don't want to die. I don't want Hilary to die. There is a way, tricky as it is. My radio is back at the farm, along with my gun and armor. I look down at the ripped towel, turned into some kind of tunic, and I feel like laughing at its inadequacy. We are filthy and hungry, and there is food back at the farm. "Maybe father is still alive," Hilary says, but it does not sound as if she believes it. "I need to make sure. Perhaps we can still rescue him..." I know that if not for the radio, I would never return to that farm. I feel terrible for thinking so.

It is too much to hope for that the Reaper forces have moved on from the farm. Neaira, an empty shell, stripped of every trace of what I once loved, yet that mutated monstrosity still retains a keen intelligence. She knows of the radio, and the gun. She knows that we are coming back. She stands amidst her army of husks, giving silent orders as they move about.

And there are also the farmers, at the back of the house. Some of them have been taken alive, imprisoned in impromptu cages. I hear Hilary taking a sharp breath, squinting ahead and trying to make out if her father is amongst the survivors. For a moment, I worry if she won't do something stupid. If I only had my gun...

The girl touches my shoulder, pointing to a hatch at the side of the house. I nod back in understanding and silently we move towards it. It leads into the basement, and from there we emerge back into the kitchen. A pair of unsuspecting husks stand around, and I managed to dispose of them noiselessly. Hilary leads me towards the back of the house, and I follow, even if my thoughts are mostly on getting to the radio. And the gun. I need my gun.

There are six or seven of the farmers still alive, but they do not speak as we enter. "Dad..." the girl breathes out, tears running down her smudged cheeks, and she hurries forth to undo the restraints on the prisoners. This is a mistake.

We have taken too much time in getting back to the farm. The indoctrination process is already well under way. One by one, they open their eyes and I feel my heart skipping a few beats. Their eyes are pitch black, like Neaira's. And then they all scream as one, a high pitched wail that could raise the dead.

Within moments they are upon us, with Neaira and the husks on their way. Goddess... I can feel her mind or what is left of it... so cold and alien and unnatural. I must get past her to reach the radio, but the indoctrinated farmers are in the way. I have no choice and Hilary screams as I let my biotics rip two of them apart. "What are you doing? No! Dad! No!" she wails, but I have no time to explain. They are beyond saving. She will have to understand later.

One by one, I slaughter them, like Neiara had done days before. I do not stop until I have destroyed them all. They will not become husks, and I have denied Neiara her reinforcements. But there is more to this butchery than simple pragmatism, there is a primal, angry thirst for carnage that makes my blood sing, it thrills and horrifies me at the same time. I want to spill more blood. The husks surround us, and I feel my lips tugging back in a feral smile as I welcome their advance.

The piles of dead husks are growing swiftly, but more and more of them just keep coming, and I know I won't be able to keep it up, unless I get some help from Hilary. But the girl has just watched me kill her indoctrinated father and she is in no shape to fight, or even defend herself. A husk slips past my defenses and lunges at her, tackling Hilary to the floor. Busy fending off three other attackers, I cannot aid her right away and another of the gangly monstrous shapes jumps on her, the two of them about to rip her apart.

I lash out at the last of my attackers before swirling around and sending a biotic pull to tear the husks away from the girl, but they do not let go of her, pulling her up with them. She struggles to break loose, but one of the husks grabs her legs and I hear a sickly wet noise of a limb breaking. They all crash down on the floor in a pile, and as I barely dodge a swing from a charging husk, with the corner of my eye I notice that Hilary's leg looks broken below the knee, dangling at an impossible angle. I can even see a bit of a white bone sticking out from a raw mess of bleeding flesh. I need to get her out of here. I need to get us out of here again. Coming back was a mistake.

I kick the half-dead husks away from her. She tries to get up from the floor, but then at the sight of her mangled leg she starts to shake, backing away, eyes wide with shock. I am not an expert at human physiology, but I know enough to realize that this is very bad. I should leave her and save myself, the girl will bleed to death soon and I won't be able to help her. But I can't. Some foolish part of me still clings to the hope of a lucky escape.

I launch a warp field at one of the walls and fuelled by my rage, the biotics tear it down and even the husks pause in their approach, stopping to look back at Neaira in the doorway, still observing the carnage with those cold, black eyes. She is waiting for them to wear us out, for us to become easy pickings. Then she will strike. The girl she probably cares little about. She wants me. She wants to make me become like her.

The girl cries in pain as I quickly gather her in my arms and jump through the opening in the wall. There are husks and marauders all around the perimeter. My hands are full and I cannot fight back. I make a run towards the hillside, and as they all set to chase after us, I duck into some bushes and then crouch as low as I can while carrying the girl, moving back towards the farm, hoping that I have succeeded at fooling them.

But Neiara has not followed, and I do not risk bringing Hilary back into the house with her still there. There is a large barn and I duck inside, settling the girl down behind some stacks of hay. She is hyperventilating and going into shock, and my words begging her to calm down and be quiet do not even register. I must find some medi-gel fast, or her cries will alert everyone still left on the premises.

I carefully look out from behind the stacks of hay. My heart sinks and my mouth runs dry from horror of that familiar silhouette in the doorway. Neiara, along with several of the marauders. And Hilary just won't stop crying.

My hand is pressed against her lips, trying to silence her, but she starts to struggle violently, and that alone is enough to alert Neaira. Slowly, ever so slowly, she is inching closer. She will find us and then she will kill us both. No, even worse. She will turn me into an empty shell, a tool of our enemy. A tool of the hated Reapers. Unless, I... I save myself.

"Please, I beg you," I whisper to Hilary, one last time. "Stop crying... you will give us away." But it is to no avail. She is in too much pain and shock. Like a ferocious animal, she tries to bite my palms when I struggle to keep her quiet. "Goddess... I'm sorry," I speak softly, placing my hands around her throat. My tears fall on her bloodied cheeks as I lean above her.

As I press down harder, her eyes clear and the crying stops as she realizes my intent. She stops her struggles and I ease off the pressure. "Dad... Jeff..." she whispers, as I hesitate momentarily before extinguishing her life. I can feel Neaira's stare, still fixed upon us, reminding me that I have no choice. "I... wanted to be a pilot, like you, Jeff. I wanted you to show me the stars..." A sharp twist of my hands, and then she is gone, finally at peace.

As I crawl away from Neiara, trying to lure her further from the house and the radio, I realize that the murder of Hilary and the rest of the farmers did not occur just now. No, I already killed them three days ago.

I killed the people I was supposed to protect when I took that damn shower and left my gun in the bedroom...

* * *

The silence is grim and foreboding on the bridge, ever since the jump to the Iera system. It will be several hours before they arrive at the Sanctuary, armed with nothing but hope and desperate plan, chasing ghosts. Even his AI companion seems subdued, impossible as it is, and Joker says nothing, continuing to watch the readings of the consoles before him.

The Cerberus betrayal has put their war effort balancing on the edge of defeat, and the desperation is starting to affect them all. It is real and frightening enough, sitting here in the relative safety of a pilot's seat, and he cannot even begin to imagine being confronted with loss of thousands, millions, close and upfront. He spends hours wondering how Shepard can face it day after day. How does she go on? How does Liara or any of them go on? Only by drawing strength from each other, from the crew. He likes to think he has been of help as well.

There is a crackling noise of comm chatter, before a voice breaks through. Soft and quiet as always, it is Liara. "Joker? she asks. "You asked for news about the human colony... Tiptree?"

"Hey, Liara," he says, his heart bursting with gratitude. He has not seen his folks in two years. "You don't need to worry about that now." Liara, ever-selfless, ever-compassionate. She had just witnessed her own race, the most-advanced species in the galaxy, brought to their knees and then executed, facing a very real threat of extinction. They had all grieved with her, fearing she would collapse. And she very nearly had. If not for Shepard's influence, Liara would still be mourning in her quarters, but now she threw all her energy into helping the survivors of Thessia, coordinating the asari refugees.

Shepard had been there for her, just like she was there for anyone of the Normandy's crew. They were her loves, her family. Always finding the right words to get them going, and if words would not help, a swift kick in the backside did. This was what Shepard was all about. She spoke and they listened. She led and they followed. And together, they believed. They believed they could end this madness.

"Now's as good time as any," Liara says. "I am getting reports of refugee ships from Tiptree landing on salarian colonies." She stops, and he senses her hesitation. "I don't have names, I'm sorry. It was... mostly children."

He feels his heart starting to skip. "Well, Gunny... uh, Hilary, my sister. Gunny's a nickname, she's had it since... She's only fifteen, so if it's children..." he rambles, desperate to hold on to the hope brought by Liara's words. His hands are shaking, and he sees EDI studying him with an expression he has come to identify as curiosity. Then the implication of the news quickly set in. "Then... maybe I've only lost my dad. What an asshole thing to hope for..."

Liara is silent on the comms for a while. "Jeff... right now, take any kind of hope you can get," she says eventually, before closing the comm line. The gentle tones of her voice alone make him feel a little better.

"Thanks, Liara," he whispers, aware that she is no longer listening. One day he will find a way to express his gratitude properly, assuming they both survive this. And afterwards he will find Gunny on those salarian colonies and teach her how to fly, he will teach her all his tricks and help her become a pilot, like she has always dreamed of. He keeps repeating this to himself, and soon enough, he starts to believe.

He is taking all the hope he can get.


End file.
